


Trip The Light Fantastic (Tango)

by pureklaination



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pureklaination/pseuds/pureklaination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel’s life was relatively simple. Finding a quiet place to draw in NYC not so much. Once he thought he found it, he never expected what came next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trip The Light Fantastic (Tango)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the KurtBlaine Reverse Bang over on LJ to this art: 
> 
> http://pencilpushingenthusiast.tumblr.com/image/24198305554
> 
> By the magnificent pencilpushingenthusiast

The bar was an eclectic collection of old styled wooden floorboards and polished tabletops. There were chairs haphazardly strewn around from clients who had sat, who had simply not bothered to push them in again. 

Kurt could see the appeal in going there, though. Not necessarily to drink but to listen, to enjoy the atmosphere of the least rowdy pub in town. It was quiet, it was always quiet. There was someone behind the bar as per usual, this time dusting off the old bottles displayed on shelves on the wall. Kurt breathed in the acrid smell of old smoke and a lot of spilled beer. 

He sat down at the bar, pulling out his well-loved sketchbook and running a fine charcoal across the page. There was something about that space, the energy in an almost completely empty room. Kurt zoned out after a while, idly tapping his foot along with the jukebox in the corner. He was so deep in his reverie that he didn’t notice the bartender approach him until a tall martini glass was placed next to his hand. 

Kurt startled, jumping a little, managing to fling the glass across the bar and straight back at the man, covering him with the contents and wincing when it shattered on the concrete floor at his feet.

“I. um. Sorry.” He stuttered the words out, looking for a cloth or something to clean off the guy’s shirt - but all he had was a white, cashmere scarf. It had been sent from Burt and Carole last winter and there was no way in hell he was using it to mop up spilled alcohol.

“It’s okay, don’t panic - happens more often than you would think.” His voice was stunning, smooth baritone, firm and nicely pitched. Kurt looked up properly, cheeks still flaming at his inability to form a coherent sentence. 

“I’m Kurt.” He held a hand over the bar, a little nervous but it held steady.

“Well, thank god you told me that. Up till now I’ve just been calling you Blue Eyes.” Kurt’s stomach fluttered at the casual compliment, and he ducked his head down to look at the bar.

“I finally worked up the courage to bring you a drink - because a guy as attractive as you should never go without one - and this is what I get.” He shrugged, “At least I know your name now.”

“No, sorry, it wasn’t- I didn’t mean t-” Kurt’s words jumbled together on his tongue.

The guy laughed. “Clearly you’re adorable and maybe I should let you assault me with drinks more often. I’m Blaine.”

A flush rose high on Kurt’s cheek bones, but he kept his eyes firmly on Blaine’s and focused on pronouncing a sentence in English. “Are you new here? I haven’t seen you in here before, in this bar I mean.” And there went that plan.

Blaine laughed. “It’s a tragic tale of woe and bad tidings that landed me behind this bar, gorgeous.”

“Okay, do you seriously talk like that all the time or are you just doing it to throw me off?” Snark, however, flowed off the tongue.

For a moment, Blaine looked startled, almost as if he hadn’t expected such a quick retort and didn’t know what to say in response, but then his eyes flittered down to the ground at the shattered remnants of glass around his feet. “I should find a dust pan and clean this mess up.”

“Sorry.” Why did he keep apologising?

“There’s no point crying over spilled martini.” Blaine’s eye twitched. It may have been a wink? Kurt couldn’t quite tell. 

Sighing, Kurt looked back down at his drawing. His day had been a mess and it didn't look like it was going to improve any time soon. Usually the only way to gather his thoughts, his only means of garnering a little headspace, was drawing. The few lines he’d started, an outline of the wood grain shelves lined with bottles, held no appeal. 

He glanced over at Blaine, who’d since returned with a broom and small dustpan, and took a moment to study him discretely. His eyes were captivating, a dark hazel with flecks of gold woven through like buried treasure. Kurt’s hand twitched and he suddenly found himself moving the charcoal to a blank spot in the corner of the page, where he sketched a few light lines, the flicks of his wrist focused and steady on long eyelashes. He lost himself in it, trying his best to capture the way the light warmed the gold whenever Blaine smiled.

“That’s a pretty good start, but if you want me to pose for you I’ll have to charge.”

Kurt glanced up to find Blaine standing over him, grinning, and distractedly added a few more tiny lines to the corners of the eyes he’d drawn. “Presumptuous, aren’t you.”

Blaine smirked and leaned a little closer to the page. “Maybe, but you didn’t immediately reject the idea.” Cocky, though, wasn’t he? “So, pray tell, Blue Eyes, what do you drink and can I get you one?”

“You said me telling you my name would stop you from calling me that,” Kurt replied. 

Blaine shrugged. “Knowing your name doesn’t change the facts. So, drink?”

Kurt had to stop and think. “Can I get a glass of water, please?” 

Blaine laughed. “Sure, but may I ask what you’re doing in a bar if water’s your thing?” he asked as he pulled a tall glass from the shelf and filled it with ice. 

“For the impeccable service, of course.”

Blaine carefully placed the filled glass above the pages instead of near Kurt’s hand, his smile cool. “But how do you know how good the service is, if you’ve never been here before?”

Kurt dusted off a few errant flakes from the paper and placed the charcoal next to it. “Actually someone told me about this place. She comes in pretty often. Rachel -- you know her?” 

“Brown hair, big voice?”

Kurt smiled. “That’d be her.” He glanced down at his watch - 6:15. He knew he should be getting home soon. Rachel would be back from her last class, and that was the time they’d usually throw something together for dinner. “Speaking of her, I should probably get going...” Kurt stood up, the barstool scraping obnoxiously along the wood floors. He winced at the sound. 

“Ooh, girlfriend woes. Now I understand the dilemma.” Blaine didn’t sound like he was ribbing this time, which Kurt found curiously disconcerting.

Stuffing his supplies back in into the brown satchel, to keep his good bags free of art debris, he stood and stared awkwardly at Blaine for a minute. “Rachel’s not my girlfriend, just... a housemate.”

Blaine raised a brow.

“She’s not really my type,” Kurt clarified, fidgeting with the clasp.

“And what’s your type?” Blaine was leaning elbows on the bar now, chin resting on his hands. “If not brunette hobbits?”

Ironically, the tone he used sounded as if he could be describing himself rather than Rachel, and Kurt momentarily wondered if Blaine was actually looking for some kind of confirmation. Most people just assumed his sexuality, though admittedly not so much in New York. He was tempted to make a snarky comment about leggy blondes, but he had no real reason to be be anything less than honest.

“Taylor Lautner.”

Blaine looked momentarily surprised, running a hand through the haphazardly arranged curls on his head before stuttering out a rather ambiguous, single syllable response. “Oh.”

___

Kurt hailed a cab, getting one pretty quickly considering the rain and biting cold was forcing people who would’ve normally walked or ridden the subway into cars, and walked through the door to his and Rachel’s apartment just as she was sitting down on the couch with a steaming cup of tea.

She perched herself up on one knee, declaring, “You’re late.” 

“I’m 21. I’ll do what I want,” Kurt huffed at her, hanging his bag on the hooks near the door and digging out his cell to put in his pocket before sitting down. Not that he was waiting for a phone call or anything, but the damn thing only seemed to go off when he walked away from it for ten minutes. 

“Sooo, how was your day?” she continued, ignoring the edge in his reply.

Kurt flopped down onto the couch next to her. The day was long, embarrassing, awkward and melodramatic, but she wouldn’t want to hear any of that, so he replied with a simple, “It was good, a bit long though.” And as if right on cue, she started prattling on about her day, while Kurt managed to zone out for most of it, placing well-practiced ‘uhms’ and ‘ohs’ in all the right places.

It was fine at first, great even, sharing a small house with his best friend in a big city, but she was high maintenance on a slow day, and that day he was just not in the mood. He put a hand on her arm, shocking her out of the impressively long-winded monologue, “Rachel. I love you, but I’m going to have a bath and get an early night. Exams are coming up next month, and I’m already exhausted.”

Rachel frowned. “But what about food, Kurt? You need to eat. Otherwise, it’s no wonder you’re exhausted all the time!”

Kurt was on the cusp of launching into a defence about how he’d eaten a little earlier, when he stopped and thought about it. When was the last time he’d eaten? An apple that morning, but that was it. Hardly enough to keep motivated and his head clear in classes. No wonder everything had taken so much effort that day. He patted her knee, pushed up from the couch, and wandered into their tiny, attached kitchen.

Usually they would make something fresh for dinner, what with Rachel being a vegan and Kurt being fairly health conscious. Their fridge looked like a mini vegetable forest, but that night he settled for leftover soup and a bread roll.

By the time he’d stuck the soup into the microwave to heat up, Rachel seemed to have lost interest, because she was still on the couch, mooning at her phone as she enthusiastically typed something into it.

He rolled his eyes. Finn must have been home from work; she would be glued to it for at least an hour. 

When the microwaved finally beeped, Kurt took the soup and bread and went to sit in his room, ignoring their unspoken rule of not eating in the bedrooms. It gave him a chance to close the door, put his ipod in the dock, and turn the volume up. 

Ah, bliss.

Silence was great, but as the music rolled through his speakers he could feel the day’s tension leave his bones, giving him a moment of peace to reflect on the oddly compelling conversation he’d had with Blaine The Bartender at the pub. 

He set the bowl down onto his desk and flopped into his rolly chair with a heavy sigh, his eyes drifting to yet another one of his sketchpads which was sitting innocently next to his laptop, white and clear. Ignoring the soup, he thoughtfully chewed a small bit of roll, grabbed the closest pencil, and let his hand take to the paper. 

\---

Kurt’s favourite charcoal pencil was missing.

Staring at the pile of gutted contents he’d dumped from his bag while frantically searching for it on his lunch break, he suddenly remembered how quickly he’d shoveled things into his bag before leaving the pub the evening before. Hmmm. So there was really only one place he could have lost it, then. 

There was little he could do to suppress the small smile that accompanied this realization - he’d have to go back. There really wasn’t any other choice.

Kurt’s classes ended an hour earlier on Tuesday afternoons, so by four o’clock he was standing outside the front of the bar, nervously fiddling with zipper on his bag. He sighed and rolled his eyes, scolding himself for how irrationally apprehensive he felt about going inside and pointedly ignoring the fact that it most likely had to do with seeing Blaine again. After all, Kurt had a perfectly reasonable explanation for being there two nights in a row; it’s not like he was making excuses to see the guy. No, that wasn’t even the point of the visit. He was there to reclaim a treasured art supply and nothing more.

So, why the hell was he freaking out?

He braced himself and pushed through the door, letting his eyes scan the quiet pub until they came to rest on Blaine’s somewhat now familiar back. No need to freak out, he reminded himself. It’s just a bar, just a pencil. God, it suddenly sounded like the stupidest excuse on the planet. “Um, excuse me!”

Blaine startled a bit at the volume of his voice - Oh God, was I yelling? - but grinned when he saw who it was. “Oh, hey, Kurt,” he practically drawled, turning more fully to lean across the bar and rest his chin on his hand.

Kurt cleared his throat. “Yes. Hi. Hello, there.” Stop babbling.

Blaine continued to grin. “So, what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this for the second night in a row?” 

Kurt raised a brow. Okay. So, he really does talk like that. He drew a deep breath, hoisted his bag higher onto his shoulder, and executed his best strut toward the bar, making it there (luckily) without falling flat on his face. “I, um, lost my charcoal last night. Have you seen it?” 

He could feel an involuntarily blush creeping up his cheeks and fought the urge to break eye-contact to stare at his shoes, a more comfortable territory. Blaine snorted softly and cocked his head to the side, eyes gleaming with suppressed laughter. “Your charcoal? really?”

The overt amusement in Blaine’s tone immediately shoved Kurt toward the defensive because, of all the things that suited Kurt’s eclectic fashion sense, embarrassment was not one of them. He was surprisingly shy and had a rather unfortunate habit of blushing at the slightest hint of anything flirtatious, but he was certainly not one to stand there while a stranger, for all intents and purposes, made fun of him for asking what was, in all respects, a practical question. He frowned. “It’s a legitimate question, Blaine. That pencil was from my favourite kit, and I don’t appreciate being scoffed at for being worried about it.” He couldn’t help the bite in his tone.

To Kurt’s surprise, Blaine’s amused smile fell entirely from his face, leaving what could only be described as something resembling “wounded puppy” in its wake. “Whoa, Kurt, calm down. I’m not laughing at you - I just thought - um...” He straightened up from where he’d been leaning and shook his head slightly, “Nevermind.” Then he tipped back against the counter behind him, placing a good amount of distance between them, and folded his arms, seemingly unsure of what to do or say next.

And with that, Kurt sighed. This was stupid. What did he think he was actually going to accomplish by coming here? Did some part of him really think that Blaine had found the pencil and set it aside in hopes that Kurt would return for it? Or that they’d end up crawling around the pub’s old wooden floors together looking for it? Or that Blaine might even want to spend more time with him? It appeared he’d been momentarily delusional. The guy was practically paid to pretend he cared about other peoples’ woes, and now, here he was, his stupidly handsome face schooled into something carefully neutral, something Kurt couldn’t quite decipher, but was quickly beginning to peg as sarcasm and an overly inflated ego.

“Yeah. Nevermind,” Kurt repeated brusquely, “Um, thanks for your help, I guess.” And with that, Kurt strode across the pub, his footsteps echoing in the quiet, and walked out the door without looking back. If he had, he might have seen the crushed look on Blaine’s face as he watched him leave.

\---

Wednesday was another long day in class - Kurt didn’t get out until well past three in the afternoon and hadn’t had a chance to grab lunch that day, either. He thought briefly about going home and having an early dinner - Rachel had night classes so the house would be empty and quiet - but some days Kurt just didn’t want to be alone in the empty and quiet, eating a solitary dinner while the only thing there to keep him company was the droning noise from the TV.

He sighed. Perhaps he should apologise to Blaine for making things so painfully awkward the other day. So what if the guy seemed to be mocking him; That would give him the clear conscience to hide at the pub for a little while and enjoy a reasonably social environment until Rachel got home. He could get some fries and maybe sit near the jukebox. A cold gust of wind caught the end of the scarf twirled around Kurt’s neck, dislodging it and sending a shiver down his spine. It was cold, there was food, and an apology was due. Without further thought, Kurt walked briskly down the pavement toward his destination. 

There were other people in the bar that day, some sort of pool tournament was going on amongst a group of obnoxiously loud patrons opposite the door. Kurt tried to convince himself that he’d gone there to be around people so the spike of fright in his veins was completely unfounded. No one paid him the slightest bit of attention when he walked swiftly past them and down to one of the booths the other side of the jukebox next to a shoddily covered ‘dance floor’ and as far away from the group as he could get. 

He pulled out his sketchpad and blanched as the stupid missing charcoal pencil fell from between the pages and onto the floor. Kurt’s head fell to his hand and he was trying to to laugh at the idiocy when a voice sounded right next to his ear, making him jump.

“Hey! I found your charcoal!” Blaine, with the dopiest grin Kurt had ever seen, placed the pencil on the table. Kurt rolled his eyes at the gesture, relieved that Blaine seemed to have forgotten the boorishness of their previous encounter, smiling all the while. “Why thank you Blaine, whatever would I do without you?”

“You’ve been in here three days in a row. I’m guessing you can’t do anything without me anymore.” He winked. It might have been suggestive, but Kurt wasn't a hundred percent sure. 

Say something. I should say something witty and pretend like I knows what to do in this situation. “You’re flattering yourself, I came for the fries.” Perfect.

“You came here to eat? I’m shocked, hasn’t anyone told you how bad the food is here?” Blaine sat on the other side of the booth, looking as if he were about to launch into a spiel about just how bad the food was, when someone from the other group walked up to the bar in obvious search of him. “Oops, duty calls. But don’t order the food or I’ll be forced to make it for you and you really don’t want that. Just wait like, another 45 minutes and I promise to take you somewhere good.”

Kurt wasn’t entirely sure what the invitation meant - or what compelled Blaine to make the offer at all - but he waited anyway, more curious than anything else. Though, after twenty minutes he was officially bored, and at the thirty minute mark his stomach was making uncomfortable growling noises. By forty, the minutes stretched so long they felt like hours until finally at forty-three, what must have been Blaine’s colleague walked through the door, because he immediately headed for the kitchen.

“That’s my cue to go! Let’s get out of here.” Blaine had changed his top to a dark button down shirt to go with the jeans he was already wearing. 

Kurt looked up at him from where he was still planted on the chair in the booth. “What? Where are we going?” 

Blaine smiled smugly. “We are going to get a proper dinner that wasn’t cooked in three week old oil.” 

“Maybe I like fries in three week old oil,” Kurt shot back at him.

Blaine looked as if trying to decipher whether or not Kurt was serious, but held out his hand to help Kurt up anyway. He kept it there for a full minute while Kurt packed all of his supplies back into his satchel bag. “Think what that would do to your arteries,” he added and shuddered. 

“You work in a bar.” He grumbled, getting up and ignoring Blaine’s outstretched hand.

“I work in- are you implying that I must have pre-destroyed arteries and no appreciation for the finer things in life?” Blaine clutched a hand to his heart, “Kurt I’m devastated.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “And suitably melodramatic it seems.”

They walked down the sidewalk in the opposite direction Kurt would usually take toward home, stopping when Blaine pulled Kurt into a little restaurant on the corner. “Blaine I’m not dressed for this place.” 

“Oh, stop it, you look fine,” Blaine replied with a smirk, and a twitch of his eye. There, again. A wink? What is that?

Fine. Fine? Fine was okay for school, it was okay for hanging out with his parents, but not for dinner with an attractive man who just happened to pick him up at a bar.

Wait, what? How did it even turn into that? He didn’t know whether to be outraged or amused at the turn things had taken with Blaine. The sneaky twirp had managed to get him out to dinner without even asking. 

They sat out on a deck towards the back of the restaurant, Kurt perused a menu from the table and Blaine flagged down a waiter to order drinks. “How did we ever get to the dinner portion of our-” Kurt paused, looking for the right word. What even were they? Blaine was still just some guy who’d just quickly and efficiently destroyed his comfort zone and suddenly, dinner. 

“Friends?” he supplied, helpfully. 

“But-” Kurt started.

“Are you saying we’re not friends? Because I was going to pay, and I wouldn’t do that for just any pencil-losing acquaintance.”

“Well that depends...” Kurt could feel a blush rising in his cheeks. “Is dessert included? Because that cheesecake looks like it could be worth it.”

“You need me to bribe you with cheesecake to be friends?” Blaine deadpanned. 

“Well it wouldn’t be bribing me, but it would go a long way towards sealing the deal.” They stopped the banter to order drinks from a harassed looking waitress. She was tall, blond and staring at Blaine like he was a glass of water in the desert. 

Are you kidding me? Kurt had to bite his tongue, fight the urge to make a bitey comment about a picture lasting longer. But really, they’d just established friends and he had no confirmation that Blaine was even gay. Except the “gorgeous” and “blue eyes” comments. That totally counted in the gay column. Blaine flirting for five minutes over ordering cokes? Not so much. 

The conversation hit a lull while each chose something to eat from the rather exclusive menu. Kurt chose a vegetarian lasagne with fries (because he had to make a point), Blaine a ceasar salad with skinless chicken.

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him once the waitress had scurried off to deliver their order to the kitchen. “What? I can feel you judging me,” Blaine mumbled into his drink. 

“Nothing,” Kurt answered quickly. “I just- tell me about yourself Blaine? It’s only fair, you did force me out against my will.” 

“Oh you were really hard to convince. One slice of cheesecake and you’re putty in my hands.” Kurt’s jaw must have hit the table with an audible thump because Blaine’s eyes widened and he looked worried for a moment. 

“I’m not implying you’re i-in my hands- I...” He trailed off and it was adorable. Blaine lost his cool for just long enough to look adorably vulnerable, and Kurt was pretty sure he heard him mutter, “smooth one Anderson,” just under his breath. Then he was preoccupied with studying the wine menu and looking anywhere but at Kurt.

He needed to change the subject, something to take that look off Blaine’s face. That look like someone had punched his kitten. “So your last name is Anderson? That’s a good place to start.” Or not, that had been decidedly creepy. “Mine’s Hummel - fair trade.” 

Blaine’s mouth twitched at the side. “I could’ve been using a fake name to throw you off,” he mumbled. That seemed to break the spark of tension around them and they settled into safer topics (politics, the city's popular tourist attractions, favourite authors) until the food came, stopping it altogether. 

Watching Blaine eat his salad with a knife and fork was possibly the cutest thing Kurt had ever witnessed, and there was a brief moment of concealed swooning when he did get a piece of cheesecake for dessert. 

“So Mr. Hummel, was your meal satisfactory this evening?” They stepped out of restaurant and back into the cool evening air. 

“It was satisfactory, though I did hope you would let me at least pay my half,” Kurt said, coming to a stop back outside of the bar.

Blaine laughed, a clear, deep sound, enough to break the near silence around them. “Unacceptable, we are friends after all. You’ll just have to pay the bill next time.” Kurt smiled at that, waiting out the awkward moment of how does one say goodnight on a sort of but not date with a friend who kind of but not really kidnapped him and paid for an expensive dinner at a conveniently close by restaurant. 

“Well, goodnight Kurt.” Blaine held out his hand.

“Goodnight Blaine. Thank you for dinner--it was lovely.” 

“Anytime. Well, maybe not all the time, most nights I work.” He paused, looking like he wanted to say more but not sure what more he could say. 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Kurt asked. “I might have to find somewhere out of the house for the night. Rachel’s ‘boyfriend’ is in town.”

“You know where to find me.” With a wink, he opened the door to the bar and the evening was over.

It wasn’t quite an invitation, but Kurt could work with it.

\---  
Thursday, Kurt stood outside of the door with butterflies in his stomach. Rachel insisted that he be gone most of the night, and Blaine had said he would be there. So he couldn’t really say no, could he? What if those nightly visits were akin to stalking? Blaine could get a restraining order, and that would not bode well for their budding friendship at all. 

Still, there really weren't many other places to go. None of his other friends had made the ‘big move’ to New York and it was surprisingly difficult to make more than just acquaintances at college. Steeling himself with a big breath, Kurt pushed through the door and made a beeline for the booth at the back. There were a few other people milling around, a couple of high-pitched girls at the bar looking like they were at the beginning of a very long night, an older man near the fireplace cradling a pint, and a young, blonde woman flittering around barefoot on the wooden floor. 

That couldn’t possibly be safe. 

“Blaine I’m leaving now, San’s picking me up and we’re going out,” she yelled in the general direction of the closed kitchen door. 

“Take care and be safe Brit, I’ll see ya later,” came the muffled response. 

Blaine finally came out of the back room fifteen minutes later, a red button down shirt loosely open over a black singlet and an untied bow tie running down past his collar. His hair stuck to his head with so much gel it practically shone and he could not be more different from the casual, relaxed man Kurt had seen the few nights prior. 

He spent a few moments pondering the sudden change in Blaine’s appearance. Had his shift only just started? That would explain the distinct lack of jeans and a t-shirt. Who was the blonde to him anyway? Gauging by the ‘take care and be safe’ they had to at least be good friends. What if Blaine was just like that with all his regulars, and taking Kurt somewhere else for dinner was just a natural progression of friendship? And why was it so hard to tell if he was interested in boys or girls?

Casually getting out his sketchpad, Kurt laid careful strokes down on a blank page. Blaine was beautiful like that. Classical beauty, all soft angles and not a hint of barkeep to be seen. It was easy to watch him move around the bar like that -- it caused an epic juxtaposition of life in fairly dull surroundings. Kurt wished he had a red pen, pencil, paint anything. He was drawing furiously, glancing up periodically to catch a new shade or image. Until Blaine disappeared again, never having noticed he was there. 

Kurt got up, packed his bag and left - Rachel could deal with being quiet that night. He needed time to think and sketch and thoroughly not think about the pristine and proper side of Blaine that he’d caught a glimpse of. Or better yet, try not to think about him at all. 

That lasted all of ten minutes. 

That Blaine was so different than what Kurt had gotten moderately used to seeing when he got to the bar. He seemed so... proper, put together, elegant. Right, because that’s all he needed -- a hot, scruffy boy working behind a bar and an elegant well-to-do boy all rolled into one. How was that even fair?

\---

Twenty-four hours later, give or take, Kurt was moping around the house in sweats when Rachel barged through the door and dumped everything she was carrying on the couch. 

“Get up and get dressed immediately we’re leaving in thirty minutes.” She clapped her hands to spur him into motion, “Come on! UP.”

He stood stunned for a few moments waiting for an explanation of any kind, but she’d already rushed off to her room and was thumping around in it. Kurt knocked on her door to ask but only received a yelled “go get ready we are going OUT,” in response. 

Shower. He should shower and find clothes, but what kind of clothes? Where would they be going? And he was wasting time. 

They hadn’t actually gone out in months, so really it didn’t matter. After a five minute shower, ten minute outfit change, and fifteen minutes spent on his hair, Kurt was standing in the kitchen waiting for Rachel to fill him in. 

“To be honest, I expected more of a fight on the thirty minute time limit, ” she admitted, walking from her room straight to the hallway mirror, checking her hair again. 

Kurt shrugged. “Where are we going?” 

Rachel hooked some earrings in, hissing when she missed the first time. “Out, just out, anywhere. We’re going dancing!”

“I got that.” Kurt grasped her shoulders as she got to the door next to him. “I’m not going to ask right now, but you and me, missy, are having a conversation about this when we get home. Or maybe in the morning, depending on how much we drink.”

“Okay. Can we go now?” Rachel opened the door and slipped out, Kurt right behind her. As was customary when they did go out for a night, he left his key under the mat rather than risking it getting lost while they were out and about. 

The first club they went to was quiet. It was still pretty early, but the pair more than made up for it in fruity cocktails and loud conversation. The problem with fruity cocktails was that they were really easy to drink - so easy, in fact, that Kurt was on his fifth when they made the mutual decision to move on to the next club.

The second club was a little bit more lively. Feeling loose and carefree, Kurt caught Rachel’s hand and led her enthusiastically to the dance floor for what easily could have been hours, stopping only for drinks. Three drinks? Five? Who knew.

By the time they skipped along the sidewalk to the third club, Sweet and Vicious, Kurt was jittery with the effect of adrenaline and alcohol coursing through his veins. Inside, there were hot bodies everywhere, the bass pumped so loud he couldn’t guarantee there even were lyrics to it.

Rachel leaned in close, her mouth moving. “It’s too much! Let’s go somewhere quieter!” She repeated the sentence at least four times, louder and louder each time, before Kurt could actually understand what she was saying. 

He shrugged in agreement. “Stop at the bar first?” Rachel nodded and they made their way over, waiting fifteen minutes for the shots they had ordered then downing them quickly. 

“Come on, let’s go!” Rachel ordered, tugging him out.

Sidewalk, pavement, people dodging everywhere. “We should catch a cab home,” Kurt suggested loudly, maybe slurring, he couldn’t tell.

Rachel shook her head. “Not ready yet. Let’s go to that little bar on the corner. It’s nice and quiet, a good finisher.” She pointed, and Kurt squinted at the sign above the door.

“No, not that one, somewhere else, Blaine works there,” he stage whispered. 

“Awesome, you know someone behind the bar? Let’s get free drinks, then!” Rachel shot through the door and straight up to the bar like she owned it. 

“Hi, I’m Rachel. Are you Blaine?”

It was not Blaine. Blaine was standing on the other end of the bar looking on in surprise at his co-worker being accosted, but the other guy leaned over, mouth close to her ear. “I could be, for you.”

Rachel startled back a few steps, and Kurt rolled his eyes from where he stood near the door before stumbling in closer to her.

“Rachel for fu-” and he promptly blacked out.

\---

Bright light streamed through Kurt’s window. Shit why hadn’t his alarm gone off? Ugh he had sandpaper mouth and oh dear god do not move your head so damn fast, Kurt. It was pounding. 

Trying to recall what had happened the night before to put him in that state was a no-go. Water, however, was a much more reachable goal. Standing, carefully, Kurt shuffled to the kitchen for water, stubbing his toe on the side of the couch and trying not to scream in agony for the sake of his head. But the motion of jumping on one foot caused an uncomfortable bout of nausea and he ended up running back to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach, over and over again, until he was just slumped over the bowl hoping that he could die quietly. 

“You’re awake.” Rachel was standing at the doorway, looking far too chipper for someone who should have been feeling just as bad as he did.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh.”

“Kurt, why is there lipstick all over your mirror?” Still too loud. He groaned, but managed to tilt his head just enough to see what the hell she was talking about.

Call me when you wake up -B  
718-917-6463

“No but why do you have red lipstick at all?” Rachel continued.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut. “Rachel. Please. Shut. Up.”

B? B... as in Blaine? Why was Blaine’s phone number on his mirror? In red lipstick? Why had he been in their house at all? When did he get there? What? Thoughts rushed around in Kurt’s head faster than his sluggish brain could keep up with. 

“I’m going back to bed,” he muttered to no one in particular.

And he did.

\---

Waking that afternoon was even worse than the first time, because then the headache was just a relentless skull-thumping, and Kurt was in a horrible mood. Rachel locked herself away in her room and Kurt aimlessly wandered around feeling sorry for himself.

Finally, he settled on a bubble bath and some soft music, soaping the stale, sweat, alcohol scent from every pore. He hummed along to the music and soaked for as long as he reasonably could before the water got cold. Then he got out and dressed, going back to the mirror to sort out his hair.

Blaine. Blaine’s phone number... and request to call. But why? So he could shame him into never drinking again? Too late, that was already a given. 

So, in lieu of suffering the embarrassment of calling him, Kurt got out his painting case and set up the easel propped against the wall near the window. He carefully setting pieces of plastic tarp underneath it all to catch rogue paint droplets, and set to work.

 

\---

Sunday was better, a little less woozy. Scratch that, a lot less woozy. Kurt took one look at his “painting” and laughed, but he kept it anyway because it was a perfect reminder to why he should never, ever drink again.

He’d since decided that there was no way he could call Blaine. There is no way of knowing how much of a total twit he’d been and it just wasn’t worth the risk. What if something had happened in the bathroom, and that’s why Blaine had been there... with red lipstick? No, there was just - no. 

It was a beautifully sunny day, with disgracefully cheerful birds, and Rachel nowhere to be seen. He’d vaguely thought about a trip to the market all week, so he got up and got dressed and was out of the house before eight. The air was still cold, fresh, and so worth the effort. 

He wandered around for a while, basking in the almost electric atmosphere buzzing around the little stalls and people finding treasures or buying fresh fruit. It really was a beautiful day.

“Kurt?”

Oh, you have got to be joking.

“How are you?” 

Kurt turned around and sure enough, there he was -- cute as ever. Except that he looked decidedly more put-together than usual. The gel was back, paired with carefully pressed black slacks and a red shirt with suspenders. He looked... gorgeous. 

“Good.” It was a clear, concise answer - not giving away the thousands of thoughts racing around Kurt’s head regarding the enigma that was Blaine’s variable fashion choices. “You’re not working today.”

Blaine smiled, looking down at himself and around at the stalls lining the roads around them. “That’s a very astute observation, Kurt.”

Falling back into careless banter was easier than Kurt had anticipated. Falling into step, just as easy. They said goodbye twenty minutes later, Blaine off to attend what he referred to as a prior obligation before clarifying that he was stuck going to a family luncheon with his parents, which he may or may not actually survive. 

For some reason, the markets kind of lost appeal after Blaine left, and Kurt went home to spend the afternoon pouring over his textbooks and class assignments and decidedly not thinking about Blaine.

He was doing that a lot lately. 

\---

Monday -- back to college for the day, back to reality and routine for another whole week. Mondays sucked for so many reasons; that was what had led Kurt to the bar the week prior in the first place. Getting through his course material week after week was like running some kind of gauntlet.

He’d seen Blaine every day for nearly a week and had no practical justification for why the hell he was, once again, walking down the all too familiar pathway toward the bar, which, huh, had a name, apparently - “Jack’s Pub.” Good to know.

Before his consciousness was given a chance to conjure any reason why he shouldn’t walk through the doors, he found himself sitting on a barstool at the counter, sketching the rows of the bottles and glassware stocked behind it. Blaine was nowhere to be seen, but that was okay. It seemed that just being in that place was enough to brighten Kurt’s entire day. 

He sat for a while, contentedly and almost absentmindedly darkening the shadows of shading on the glasses and levels of liquor left in each of the bottles, when--

“Please, dear god, tell me you’re an art major.” Blaine slipped into the seat next to him, eyes flittering between the shelves and the paper spread in front of Kurt.

“Design, technically, but yes.” Kurt replied, pencil hovering over the page, adding strokes here and there. 

“Good. I would hate to see all that talent going to waste.” Blaine smiled. “You should sign that so I can get a frame and put it up in here somewhere. It would be nice to have a little fine art on these walls.”

Kurt scoffed, flicking over to the next page in his book. “It’s hardly fine art, Blaine. Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Blaine raised his eyebrow. “Oh, really. That sounds like a challenge.” He grinned.

And something tiny leaped in Kurt’s chest, because that was flirting, right? At least, Blaine didn’t seem all that upset about whatever happened the other night. What did happen the other night? Kurt suddenly had to know. 

“So,” he began slowly, affecting as lighthearted an air of self-deprecating interest as possible. “The other night. I remember coming in here, Rachel flirting with some guy at the counter because she thought it was you--” No, that sounded wrong, preemptive like he’d gone there specifically to see Blaine. Kurt needed to backtrack and fast. “I mean, not that we were actually looking for you or anything. She just insisted on stopping in here on our way home from... some other place and I told her that I knew you-- I mean, I’d mentioned offhandedly that we’d spoken before and I think she was hoping for free drinks or something--” Stop talking, just stop talking. 

“I...” Kurt started again.

“You’re even more adorable when you’re babbling.” Blaine got up, casually walking back behind the bar and plucking a glass and a bottle from the array behind him. “Have I ever given you the impression that I would mind if you came in here just to see me?”

He said you, Kurt thought. Not Rachel, you. Kurt that’s you! You should say something. “You’ve not given me any impression at all,” Kurt replied matter-of-factly.

“Oh, haven’t I?” Blaine retorted with a sly smile. “Because I seem to recall mentioning not only how attractive, but also how adorable you are on the very first day we met.”

Kurt looked down at his sketchbook, shrugging to hide his blush. “Well, you must have a stunning memory, then. Because all I remember is spilling a drink on you.”

Blaine placed a martini glass on the bar beside Kurt and added an olive to the glass with an exaggerated flourish. “Should I be worried that your memory caps at seven days?”

And then it was Kurt’s turn to scoff. “Should I be worried that you’re counting?” 

Blaine’s fingers fiddled with the stem of the glass. “Like I said, a guy as attractive as you should never go without a drink.” 

The repeated sentiment effectively caused Kurt’s mouth to go bone-dry and his cheeks to flush scarlet. “Well,” he picked up the olive and twirled it around in the rim of the glass, “At least you’ve answered one of my earlier questions.”

Blaine stared unabashedly and leaned his against the bar. “Oh, have I now.”

Kurt took the olive, slipping it between his lips and tugging it from the toothpick with his teeth. “You really do talk like that all the time.”

Blaine cleared his throat, his collected exterior seemingly melting from him like butter. “Yes, well. You look like the kind of person who could use a little wooing.”

Laughing, Kurt packed up his pad and cellphone from the bar before mustering all the courage he had to glance up at the man and affix him with his best eyebrow-arched expression of challenge. “I would love to see you try.” 

And with that, he left, taking everything with him save a small corner of paper torn from a page of his sketchbook.

Kurt Hummel  
752-856-3259

\---

Oh dear god, what had he done?

Kurt was freaking out. In fact, on a scale of mass apocalyptic freakouts, it was way past the endtimes. Blaine seemed to have some sort of stupid knack for making him say stupid things and act a certain way and why the hell had he sucked a stupid olive?

He was so screwed. Sheer embarrassment was enough kept him away from the bar on Tuesday night, though Kurt would never admit to how many times he sighed at his cellphone that day.

\---

Wednesday - 12.01am - one new text from unknown number: ‘I expected to be given the chance to try tonight, but alas, you didn’t come in.’ Kurt blinked at it, confused, then promptly ignored it in favour of closing his eyes and going back to sleep. After all, anonymous people who sent cryptic messages after 11pm were rude, and nothing was getting in the way of a good nights sleep. Nothing. 

Wednesday - 11.00am - one new text from Blaine Anderson. No, Kurt had not entered the number still smeared on his mirror that morning, thank you very much. ‘Well, that’s what I get for following the 24 hour rule, I guess. Unless you’re specifically ignoring me or gave me a phoney number. It’s Blaine by the way. From the pub.”

Kurt laughed out loud, causing the day’s lecturer to glance up at him. Along with every other student in the room. 

Shit.

“You have something to share, Mister Hummel?” 

Kurt blushed and hurriedly shoved his cellphone back into his school bag. “No, nothing. Sorry.” He sank further down in his chair as the lecture continued. A million years later, when class finally finished for the day, he sent a response to Blaine: Be there in 5.  
-  
Blaine was standing on the bar. In jeans and a regular t shirt. While he fiddled with one of the light fixtures above it with his hands. It seemed a bit precarious considering the remaining lights in the place were still on, but the room was mostly empty, a sole couple eating in one of the booths toward the back. His shirt had ridden up some, leaving a strip of skin visible above a brown belt. Kurt hesitated, not wanting to startle him, and perhaps admiring that small strip of warm olive coloring, the slight dusting of dark hair, and the defined line of well... everything. 

The light flickered on and Blaine let out a satisfied whoop, hopping down from the bar before noticing that Kurt was standing by the door, somewhat stunned but smiling in greeting. 

“Y-you could have been electrocuted,” Kurt announced, moving closer to sit on one of the stools near where Blaine was standing.

“Yes, but I wasn’t,” Blaine replied chipperly. “And considering I’ve had to do that at least fifteen times since I’ve been here, the odds are pretty good that I won’t the next time, either. We have a truce, me and the light.” He grinned and tucked his shirt back down into his pants. 

Blaine was an asshole who clearly had no sense of propriety or of what Kurt was thinking (thankfully).

“So, Kurt. I’m beginning to think you gave me the wrong phone number, because I was looking forward to seeing you yesterday and yet nothing in reply to either of my texts. I’d be hurt if not for the simply stunning visual of your pants I’m getting today.” Blaine leaned over the bar as he spoke, not quite in Kurt’s comfort zone but close enough to make him lean back and blush as he stared at Blaine’s lips. 

“Ah, but I did reply.” Something was wrong with his voice; it cracked embarrassingly on the first few words. He cleared his throat and pressed on, “Right after I got out of class. My lecturer was unimpressed with my reaction to your message, actually, so I had to wait.”

Blaine dug in his pocket for his phone and glanced at the screen. “There was a reaction from my text? You should perhaps elaborate further, because there was nothing in either of my texts that was intended to evoke a reaction out of you.” The smarmy git was getting a kick out of it, wasn’t he?

Kurt rolled his eyes - wait, either of his texts? There’d been another one? Oh, the midnight text! Kurt got out his phone, quickly re-read the anonymous message from the night before, and grimaced before schooling his face into something slightly more affronted.

“What, exactly, were you hoping to ‘try’ at midnight and what, pray tell, is the ‘twenty-four hour rule’?” Kurt shot back.

Blaine had the good grace to blush, tongue slipping out to wet his lips enticingly and, good grief, completely unnecessarily. “The twenty-four hour rule is how long you’re supposed to wait before making contact with someone who’s given you their number.” He looked uncertain for a moment, but the expression was quickly replaced with a bright smile. “And I’d been hoping to try my ‘wooing’ technique.” 

Wooing technique. Well then. That implied that Blaine was interested in something, but it was just getting confusing, and why couldn’t things just be simple?

While Kurt racked his brain for an equally smart-assed reply, the door opened behind him and in waltzed the leggy blonde he quickly recognized from the other evening. He glanced back at Blaine only to find that the guy’s face was practically lit up like a Christmas tree. 

The girl walked behind the bar and planted a noisy kiss on Blaine’s cheek. When he smiled at her in return, it was all Kurt could do not to roll his eyes. That was definitely not a normal reaction for him. “I’m going to head home, I have an essay to finish for school tomorrow, so--”

Blaine turned toward him in surprise, his face momentarily falling, but then he smiled and nodded. “Will you at least reply to my texts from now on?”

Kurt nodded, not really wanting to say anything further than that in front of the woman who had half-draped herself around Blaine’s shoulders, and hurried out the door. The idea that maybe Blaine was just some sort of pathological flirt was clawing at the corners of his mind.  
-  
It would have been fine if it ended there but when he got home, Kurt was confronted with a crying Rachel, facedown in the couch. She looked up when he entered the room, her face a mess of mascara and tears.

“They don’t like me Kurt, none of them.” She pulled another tissue out of the box beside her on the table. “No matter how h-hard I try, they think that I’m always trying too hard or that I’m not good enough and I’m never going to have friends in that stupid school!” Rachel’s breaths got shallower with every word, working herself into full panic attack mode. “Why doesn’t anybody like me Kurt?”

She was looking at him with the most pitiful expression, and there was no way he could explain exactly how demanding and forthright she could be without breaking her heart. At the end of the day, they were friends - best friends. They had been for years, and he hated that he’d failed to notice how quiet she’d been lately. 

Sure, they had gone out. But he’d forgotten to ask why she’d demanded they do in the first place, or even what she remembered from it afterwards, and crap, everything was such a mess. 

Kurt’s phone went off in his bag but he ignored it, hanging the bag up next to the door and moving to sit next to Rachel on the couch, bundling her up in his arms. “No, shh it’s okay.” He murmured quiet, subdued words, trying to calm her down. 

“There’s this one girl, in my class - she hates me. She keeps making all these snide remarks about my height and obvious lack of any talent whatsoever, and it hurts.”

“Rachel, look at me.” Kurt pulled back far enough away to look at her and pass her another tissue from the table. “You’re a star. Your classmates are probably just jealous and are taking that out on you. You just need to calm down - we’ve gotten through way worse than this over the years, come on.” Rachel wiped her eyes and nodded slowly. “I’m going to get some ice cream and then we’re going to watch The Sound Of Music, okay? Have a night off. Relax. We’ll get through this together.”

They watched the Von Trapp children sing their way across the screen until they fell asleep in a pile of cushions and blankets right there on the couch.

\---

Thursday morning, Kurt woke up with a horrendous ache in his neck. Sleeping on the couch was something he’d gotten out of the habit of doing, and that was exactly why. Rachel was still asleep, curled up on her side with a tissue clutched in her hand. She took things too personally for someone with so much enthusiastic determination. 

He stumbled off the couch, rubbing his neck and trying to loosen the muscles with some cautious stretching when he heard a knock at the door. Who the hell could that be? He only had about two hours before class and no one ever visited them. 

Kurt looked through the spyhole and gasped. Blaine was at the door, looking outrageously attractive and unfairly put-together for eight o’clock in the morning. He couldn’t open the door; he had slept in his clothes for heavens sake. Trying not to panic, and failing, Kurt pulled the door ajar and poked his head around the edge. “Um, hi?”

Articulate, oh yeah.

Blaine smiled, his eyes darting up to Kurt’s hair and then the smile turned into a grin.“Good morning. Coffee? You didn’t answer my texts again, so I thought I would extend the invitation in person.”

“How do you know where I live?” Kurt asked, because that wasn’t creepy at all.

Blaine looked down at the floor, showing off the immaculate part in his hair that probably required a ruler. “I, uh, brought you home the other night.”

Oh shit. Yeah, that happened. 

“Um, give me 10 minutes?” Ten minutes was a good amount of time to shower, pick an outfit for the day, do his hair, find some shoes, pack a bag and leave the house, yes?

No.

“I would ask you to wait inside, but my housemate is asleep on the couch and I don’t know how she would reac-”

“Kurt, it’s fine. I’ll wait downstairs - don’t hurry, I have some time.” With that, Blaine wandered back toward the stairs, and Kurt ran to the shower, then to get his clothes, bag, shoes - all good. Hair, not so much. 

Twenty minutes later Kurt bolted down the stairs, screeching into something less hurried when he reached the bottom. Blaine was waiting outside just as he said he’d be, sitting on the front step, fiddling with the edge of his vest.

He looked adorable. Kurt caught his breath, sucking air through his nose, and casually opened the door. Blaine looked up immediately and smiled. “Good morning. Again.”

“Good morning,” Kurt replied, stepping down the last few stairs and onto the pavement. “Now, what’s this about coffee?”

Blaine stood up, innocuously running both hands over his butt to wipe away any traces of dirt from the step. Not that Kurt was watching or anything like that. “Yes, there’s a little cafe down the road, I passed it on my way over. Would that be okay?”

Kurt nodded, more confused than anything else. Blaine was... two different people? Twins? No, that couldn’t be right because that was the same Blaine who had brought him home from the bar the other night. But why the hell was he so different away from work? And, seriously, what was going on with his clothes?

“Why do you look so different when you’re away from work?” Kurt blurted out. Well, so much for a casual inquiry. 

Blaine glanced down at his clothes like he hadn’t remembered what he was wearing. Kurt laughed nervously. “All I mean is that when you’re at the bar, it’s jeans and a t-shirt, but when you’re away - at least from what I’ve seen - it’s high waters and bowties and immaculately gelled hair. I was just wondering if there was a particular reason...?” 

Blaine gave him a half-smile, like he was searching for a good response. Kurt waited. “I... okay. When I’m at work, there’s a certain... brand of customers, or so I learned in my first week. They, um, don’t really go for the bowties and gel so much.” 

They were still walking toward the cafe, close enough that Kurt could have easily reached out and taken Blaine’s hand. Not that Kurt noticed. Much.

“So, I have a sort of a secondary appearance that just makes life a little easier for me there.”

“But why would the way you dress make a difference at work?”

Blaine sighed, and opened the cafe door for Kurt when they reached it. “Because the way I like to dress normally, like today, isn’t really what people expect when they walk into a bar.”

Well, that didn’t really answer anything, but Kurt got the hint that it was something Blaine wasn’t interested in talking about further. 

They ordered coffee, and sat down together at a little booth near the window, entertaining themselves in the quiet for a few moments, watching people walk around outside and pouring sugar into their coffees. Blaine was the first to break the silence.

“So Kurt, design major. Your exams would be coming up soon then, I assume?”

Kurt laughed. “Yeah, they start tomorrow.” Oh crap tomorrow. I should be studying, or finishing off that essay or pretty much anything other than sitting in a cafe casually chatting over coffee.

Blaine peered at him inquisitively over the lip of his coffee cup. “You don’t sound particularly concerned about that.”

Keeping his inner freak at bay, Kurt took a slow sip of his coffee. “I’m not too worried. I know the material we’re covering, so I’m fairly confident I can get through these exams without pulling all nighters and panicking like the rest of my classmates.” 

Well that just made him sound conceited. Great. Blaine was going to think he was some kind of academic narcissist who thought so highly of himself that he didn’t bother to study or do any classwork or put any effort into anything -- every bit of which was far from the truth. Kurt worked himself to the bone in order to keep his grades up, and made it a point to meet with his professors when anything they covered in lecture left him feeling unclear.  
So far, Blaine hadn’t responded with anything other than a slow, singular nod, so Kurt scrambled to amend his statement. “Not that I’m not panicking about it. I just know what to expect from them. And I’m thinking I might have a shot at getting through relatively unscathed.”

He bit back a sigh. It seemed that conversation with Blaine was mostly a fear of blurting out something without thinking, followed swiftly by an attempt to reel it back in and clarify what he had tried to say in the first place. And it was all so awkward. 

Blaine studied him for a moment, then changed the subject. “So, I just have to ask - did I say something to offend you yesterday?”

Oh. So that was the real reason for coffee, then. 

Kurt shook his head. “No, not at all.”

“Okay, good.” He leaned forward a little, seemingly relieved. “I’m glad. It’s just - you left so quickly, I thought maybe I’d...” He trailed off, looking uncertain again.

Kurt shook his head again, because what was he supposed to say? I felt a bit out of place watching you wear your girlfriend like a cape? “I just thought you were busy, and I didn’t want to get in the way. Also your, um... friend?... was there, and I didn’t want to interrupt you two. Also, I really did have to study, so-” He was startled out of his rambling when Blaine barked out a laugh. 

“Wait, Brittany? Kurt, she’s my housemate. We talk all the time. You really didn’t have to worry about that.”

Okay, Kurt was really confused. So, the blonde is a mere platonic friend who also happens to live with him? But what about the kissing and affection? Oh, hell, why couldn’t Blaine just clear the air once and for all without him having to ask the inevitably awkward question? 

Kurt’s phone went off in his bag and a quick glance at the screen showed him several unanswered text messages and one incoming call from Rachel. “Sorry,” he sighed to Blaine, while sliding the bar across the screen to accept it.

Unsurprisingly, Rachel was still in crisis mode and having conniptions over something he couldn’t quite decipher. But for all she knew, Kurt was at school or studying or doing something other than having a very important, yet painfully uncomfortable, conversation over coffee with a disgustingly handsome man who may or may not be gay.

The very same disgustingly handsome man who was drinking his coffee and trying to look out the window inconspicuously like he wasn’t listening to every word of the conversation. 

Back to what Rachel was saying. “You need to come home. I need you to help me with blahblahblah something.” Kurt rolled his eyes and coughed, interrupting her constant stream of... conversation. “No, Rachel, I can’t. I’m studying. Exams tomorrow, remember?”

To that she went silent and Blaine’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “So, I’ll be home after class, and we can fix whatever is going on then, okay?” She was cranky and panicking, and it probably sounded as if they were married, but come on. Kurt ended the call and smiled apologetically across the table. “Sorry she’s - demanding, to say the least... What were we talking about?”

Blaine blinked, then swallowed down the last bit of his coffee. “Oh, I’m sorry - I was just about to say I have to go. There’s a few things I just have to get done today, sorry.”

Kurt deflated a little. It seemed he’d just used up the last few minutes he had with Blaine stuck on the phone with Rachel. That figured.

After they exchanged hurried goodbyes,Blaine left. Kurt watched him leave, then sighed and ordered another coffee to take to class with him.

-

Kurt’s class for that day was a bust. The lecture covered every topic they’d already covered that year in a less than three hour timeslot, and he was exhausted just thinking about it. He thought about stopping in at the bar on his way home, but everything just felt too damn hard and he needed to talk to Rachel about why he’d been so short with her earlier and argh. It was the kind of day only a bubble bath and chocolate could properly fix.

He went home, had dinner with Rachel, during which she apologized for the earlier freakout, then found solace in a hot bath before bed. 

\---

There are days in a person's life when they wake up early and are awake and alive and ready for everything the world could throw at them before dawn even arrives.

That day was not one of those days for Kurt Hummel.

His alarm didn’t go off. He hadn’t plugged his phone in the night before, so it had next to no battery. Rachel spent twenty-five minutes in the shower, despite Kurt’s intermittent knocking on the door, and he was forced to wait. Because there was no way he was going to class without a shower - gross.

By the time he finally got out of the house, he only had twenty-five minutes to get to class or he’d miss his exam. So no dawdling, no coffee, no stopping for any reason.

The exam went well, thank god. It turned out he did know the subject matter and felt satisfied with his performance, at least. But he was starving and needed coffee more than anything else. He stopped at the little cafe on campus and got a bagel and coffee to go before heading to the bar. He was going to ask Blaine the question that was still weighing on his mind and be done with it.

He walked into the bar precisely fifteen minutes later, perching on a stool and waiting for Blaine to come out from the back room. When he did, wearing all black jeans and white shirt, hair still damp from when he must have washed the gel out earlier, Kurt pushed up from his seat. “Blaine, are you busy?”

Blaine looked up in surprise, but then smiled and moved toward him. “A little, but since when has that ever stopped us?”

Kurt shifted on his stool, breathing deeply to calm his beating heart. That part never got easier; it was either one way or the other, but he had to know. Because there was a very real chance he was falling for Blaine, and he couldn’t let that go on much longer only to have it all come crashing down on him. 

Blaine studied him for a moment, then gave the counter a swift pat. “Come on, let’s go sit down the back for a minute, you look nervous as all hell.” Really? Was is that obvious? 

They made their way to a booth toward the rear of the pub, squeezing into opposite sides. Blaine didn’t say anything, just looked at Kurt expectantly, so Kurt braced himself for the inevitable. “Blaine, I just have to know - I’m only going to ask this once and I won’t keep going with it, but...” He looked everywhere except at Blaine. “A-are you gay?”

Blaine shifted in his seat for a moment and glanced around - there were a few people in the bar, but none close enough to overhear their conversation, thank god - before nodding. And suddenly, Kurt’s world righted itself. That was all the confirmation he needed. 

Kurt smiled down at the table, twisting his now empty paper coffee cup between the tips of his fingers. 

“Kurt, can I please take you out to dinner on Sunday?”

Kurt’s head shot up. What?

“The bar closes early that day,” Blaine continued, “So, I thought maybe we could...” He tapered off, looking a bit apprehensive even as he smiled.

Kurt grinned. “It’s a date.”

\---

Date.

Such a tiny word. Not in the least bit threatening. So why was Kurt freaking out?

They’d gone out to dinner together before, and it really wasn’t a big deal - but this was a date. With Blaine.  
When he’d gotten home the day before, Rachel had asked why he was so distracted - walking around with the dopiest of grins and stars in his eyes - but Kurt had shrugged her off, not ready for it to be public knowledge. It was something special to him, and she would just tease or say something entirely inappropriate like it was about time you got some or something equally obnoxious and he just was not ready to break his happy bubble. 

That and he couldn’t seem to focus on anything long enough to complete it. Even his thoughts were disjointed, running together in some form of hyperactive blur like nothing could stop them. He moved steadily around his room, collecting a few pencils and a pad from his desk before settling down on his bed. Time seemed to disappear when he was drawing, and luckily it was Saturday so he needn’t attempt to keep track of it. Little by little an image came to life before him - brown eyes with flecks of gold, a red button-down shirt -- it had to be red -- black pants and a killer smile. He drew Blaine from memory, thinking about what he should wear on their date, right up to the point he started freaking out again. 

There was only so much waiting a person can handle, and four magazines, one shower, three cups of coffee, and a full closet revamp later, Kurt was just plain bored. 

And boredom was crap, because it meant time crept by even slower. 

He thought about going down to the bar early, but enthusiastic much? Really, though, what could one more day say that twelve hadn’t already covered? Sighing, he settled on walking to the park. After packing a few necessary essentials - sketchpad, pencils, phone, an apple - he made his way there and found a nice spot in the sun in hopes of focusing long enough to draw something. 

He failed atrociously. Twenty minutes later he was walking home again, fighting the part of him that really, really wanted to head straight to the bar to flirt outrageously all afternoon. Because wasn’t that was the point of going on a date in the first place?

He settled for cooking a lasagna for him fpr dinner and to have leftovers for Rachel, before settling in with a mindless television rom-com. And that was where Rachel found him hours later when she finally got home - passed out on the couch, holding his phone. 

\---

Dinner, by its very nature, was typically at the end of the day and as far as Kurt was concerned, that particular day started way too early. Still, in terms of something as important as dinner with Blaine, he felt confident that he could utilize every moment. There was shaving and primping and choosing what to wear - by the time 5pm rolled around, Kurt was sitting on the couch fully dressed and in as pristine a condition as possible, going over his nails with an emery board. 

“So, you really like this guy,” Rachel observed, startling him out of his reverie.

Kurt looked up to find her leaning in the entryway to the kitchen, a knowing little smile on her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Except he did know. Very, very well.

“You’ve been getting ready all day,” she said, moving toward him and flopping down onto the couch. “That says a lot more than you may or may not be willing to vocalize. Is it the guy you were talking about the other night? The one that helped get you home?”

“Maybe.” Kurt inspected his nails thoroughly before adding some cuticle oil and rubbing it in. “Yes, that’s the one.”

Rachel’s smile grew wider. “Good, anyone else and I would have had something to say. I mean, the way he looked at you, Kurt...” She sighed wistfully and shook her head, “Nevermind. I’m happy for you, honey.” And with that, she waltzed out of the room, leaving Kurt to wonder exactly how Blaine had been that night. 

-

It was 6.03pm and finally, Kurt heard a brief knock at the door. Giddy with anticipation, he may or may not have skipped toward it, pausing only to catch his breath and make sure everything was perfectly in place before swinging it open. 

Blaine grinned brightly upon seeing him. He was dressed in a classic black button-down and dark jeans - the combination of which was so simply dashing, it was truly unfair - and his soft curls were neatly gelled into submission.

Kurt found himself staring, nodding in approval before glancing down at his own, painstakingly chosen ensemble and suddenly feeling out-classed. Damnit. Having specifically tried to avoid being overdressed, he’d opted for a soft, while Henley pullover and black trousers with black shoes. 

“You look amazing,” Blaine said, holding out a single red rose and blushing slightly to match it. “I didn’t know if this would be too much, but you - I wanted to give you something nice.” His smile was nervous, but warm.

Kurt accepted the gift, his heart melting a little. “Thank you, Blaine. It’s beautiful.” He quickly ducked back inside the apartment to put it in some water. 

Dinner was a fairly simple affair. They talked about anything and everything over small salads and a main course that really could have been anything and it wouldn’t have mattered in the least - the company made concentrating on the food pleasantly difficult.

An hour or so later, they were still talking over cooling cups of coffee, and Kurt was silently wishing it could go on for hours to come.

Blaine seemed to sense as much, because he tilted his head and quietly declared, “Well, the pub closes early on Sundays, so we could go there and hang out if you’d like?”

Kurt didn’t have much time to dwell on what exactly Blaine meant by “hang out,” but he was certain he was ready for it, whatever it was. And before he knew it, they were hopping into a cab and heading across town. 

“I feel like a juvenile delinquent sneaking onto school grounds after hours,” Blaine chuckled, pulling his keys from his pocket.

“Partners in crime?” Kurt suggested.

Blaine laughed and grinned. “Partners in crime.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping to the side to let Kurt enter first.

The bar had a remarkably different aura when not open to the public. It was dark and quiet, almost eerie in its silence.

“Come on, we need some music,” Blaine said and bolted over to the jukebox, plugging its dangling power cord into a nearby wall socket and clapping his palms together once when the machine whirred to life.

Meanwhile, Kurt tiptoed to and from the places he hadn’t been given an opportunity to see before, sticking his head into the back room - boring - and kitchen before finally settling behind the bar.

Having selected something smooth, soulful, and surprisingly nondescript to play in the background, Blaine came over and took a seat in Kurt’s usual spot at the counter. 

“What can I get you, sir?” Kurt asked, pulling a chilled glass from the bar fridge. 

Blaine grinned. “It’s a little early for role play, don’t you think?”

Kurt poked his tongue out in reponse and pulled a bottle of vodka from the liquor shelf. “Suit yourself. Looks like you’re not getting a choice of drink, then.” 

Blaine pouted, and it should not have been as adorable as it was. “Do you intend to join me in this foray into the unknown alcoholic beverages?”

Pulling a second glass from the fridge, Kurt poured a shot of vodka into each of them. “Part of the reason I don’t drink very often is that I never know what to get, and by the time I’ve tried a few, I’m too drunk to care.” He peered around for something to mix with the drinks. “And besides, you saw yourself how it affects me.”

“I did,” Blaine acknowledged with a soft chuckle, then stood and walked around the counter to join Kurt, nodding toward the a series of taps the mixers were hooked to. “Just push the button for whichever one you want: lemonade, water, ginger ale...”

Kurt shot him an incredulous glance. “I know how to work a tap, Blaine.”

“Oh. I just- you said- I thought maybe you hadn’t really done this before, so I- um... here,” Blaine sheepishly handed the tap over to Kurt, who took it from him and proceeded to hit lemonade.

“You honestly thought I wouldn’t know how to use it?” Kurt’s eyes were shining bright, enhanced by the blue neon light glowing overhead. “You just point-” he pointed the tap at Blaine, a sly smile curving the corners of his lips, “-and press.” 

Lemonade shot at Blaine, who looked completely bewildered. 

Kurt put the hose down and passed him his drink. “Service with a smile.”

“No,” Blaine said steadily. “You got that completely wrong.” Kurt cocked an eyebrow at him, lemonade still dripping on his neck and the white shirt he was wearing was getting a little tighter where the liquid seeped through it. 

“You’re supposed to hold it like this.” Blaine pointed the hose into the second drink and put a thumb on the Cola button and wait.” He filled up the glass, nonchalantly side-eyeing Kurt. “Then you...” he closed the distance between them in three easy steps. Kurt felt the coldest rush of cola ever down the back of his shirt and crap straight down to his feet.

Kurt tried to regain his composure. “For that...” He ran a hand through his hair, the spray and product completely useless now- apart from maybe drying looking like something from a fraggle movie. “...I’m taking this bottle of Vodka.” He swiped it off the bar and ran to the other side of the bar. “Without the recommended dilution.”

Blaine clutched a hand to his still sopping wet shirt. “Why Kurt, are you suggesting... Shots?”

“No I’m suggesting I sit over here,” Kurt said, promptly sitting on the pool table, still wet, “and just, finish what’s left in the bottle.” He took a long swig and shit, that was vile. 

“Call it what you like, that was a shot.” Blaine turned around to survey the bottles lined up behind him. He picked out the scotch, Johnnie Walker Black, and selected a shot glass off the shelf above, pouring out a perfect shot, not a drop wasted.

Kurt leaned over, trying (and failing) to get a look at the glass. “Anyone would think you had practice?”

Blaine smirked. “Oh I won’t quit my day job.” He downed the scotch easily, not even having the common decency to wince. 

Kurt grimaced at him. “Wow do you do that often? Scotch is a sipping liquor, not a shot!”

“Oh sorry, should I stop?” The question hung in the air for a few moment.

“No, but you should make me something fun, with vodka.” Blaine downed another shot, walked around the bar and over to the pool table, trying to pry the vodka bottle out of Kurt’s hands.

“What? No, not this bottle, a different one,” Kurt said indignantly. 

Blaine left his hand on the bottle, standing between Kurt’s legs, still perched on the pool table. “I was giving you what you wanted.” Kurt looked confused, and steadily took another sip with Blaine’s eyes on him, “I was giving you something fun, mixed with Vodka.” He grinned. 

“Oh, I bet you think you’re really funny.”

“Oh, I know I’m really funny.”

“You’re a brat.”

“You love it.”

The words hung in the air. Kurt watched Blaine’s hand move slowly from the bottle and felt them trace softly across his lips. He was right there, with his too-deep eyes and long neck. Blaine’s hand moved around to cup the back of Kurt’s neck and he could smell the strong scent of alcohol between them, so close now. Blaine’s breath was warm and inviting before Kurt could think too much he closed the gap between them until their lips met.

It was like heaven and silk wrapped up in warm liquid smooth caress and thank god Kurt was sitting down because he was sure his legs would have given out under him. Instead, he pulled Blaine a little closer, hand slipping up past his collar and playing with the little curls at the nape of his neck, letting himself get lost in the kiss and running his tongue across Blaine’s lower lip

Tracing his fingers down again, Kurt hummed in approval. Blaine had taken over every sense he had, taste, touch, smell, sound and it was all but completely overwhelming. Kurt pulled back a little, noting the dark lust-blown look in Blaine’s eyes, and he giggled, noting at last that they were both still soaking wet and Blaine was shivering slightly. But that could easily have been an after effect of the kissing, because Kurt could feel goosebumps all over his skin. 

Blaine blushed, looking down at exactly how close they had gotten and sucking his lower lip between his teeth. Fuck, he was absolutely adorable, and shivering and he looked like a lost puppy left in the rain. Kurt drew a hand to his chin, lifting it so Blaine’s eyes would meet his, asking silent permission before lowering the same hand to the top button of his shirt. Blaine nodded, and watched intently while Kurt worked on the buttons. 

Pushing the sopping shirt off Blaine’s shoulders, Kurt ran his hands along the muscles there, making Blaine shiver again but maybe not so much from the cold that time. Meanwhile, Blaine hooked his fingers under the hem of Kurt’s shirt, he could feel them lightly grazing the skin underneath and he nodded, holding his arms up in the air to help Blaine pull it over his head. 

It really was a lot better being shirtless anyway. Kurt could stop and just admire the long, graceful line of Blaine’s neck. The way his hair remained perfectly in place and how there was a light dusting of hair gracing his chest. He just looked so goddamned bashful, a far cry from the self-assured brat who teased Kurt with a hose and taunted him about charging for a still portrait. 

The music changed and the still, silent spell they’d woven together broke in a moment -- like someone had popped a bubble and let sound and light in again -- and christ, Kurt was sitting half naked on a pool table with Blaine standing pressed up against him, between his legs. 

Blaine must have felt the muscles in Kurt’s back tense up, because he immediately piped up with a distraction. 

“Come on, dance?”

“But, we’re...”

“Shh.”

Blaine took his hand and led him to the centre of the “dance floor,” putting a hand firmly on his waist. “Let me lead.”

“What? I can’t-”

“Just follow me, you’ll pick it up in no time. Maybe I shouldn’t throw you around though.”

They took long gliding steps around the floor. Blaine, it turned out, was easy to follow. A few careful circles around the floor and then he sped it up, causing Kurt to falter momentarily on one step and throw off the rhythm. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Stop apologising and just get lost in it.” Easier said than done. Blaine closed his eyes, his hip movement just a little too fast for Kurt to keep up with. He felt the hand Blaine had around his waist tighten, drawing him closer. It was surprisingly easy to feel Blaine’s movements like that, each step predetermined by a muscle tensing.

“Can you Tango?” Blaine said casually, smirking and extending their arms out.

“I-” Kurt started.

“Don’t worry about it, just follow.” Blaine snapped his head forward and led them a few long steps to the front, before turning around and repeating the action. Kurt promptly burst out laughing and had to stop and reorient himself.

He caught Blaine looking at him funny, still holding onto his hand. “What?”

“You’re adorable.” Kurt flushed, looking down at their joined hands, unsure if he should pull away. But he was swiftly tugged back flush against Blaine and holy shit he was all hard lines and muscles. Good to know. 

Things got serious when the tempo changed, and Kurt could feel Blaine’s skin heat up as they moved around the floor together. The song hit a stunning crescendo at almost the same moment as Blaine’s grip tightened on Kurt’s waist. “You ready?” The words were whispered across his ear and he was suddenly tipped backwards, (throughly messing with his equilibrium) but it didn’t matter, because Kurt was too focused on the steady, strong hold around his waist and the hot, powerful lips on his own. 

When did it get so hot?

Blaine pulled Kurt back up to standing point and smiled, looking down at the ground between them. 

“You can’t possibly be getting shy now, Blaine Anderson.” Kurt said. The words sounded funny to his ears, somewhat raspy and quiet. He lifted Blaine’s chin up to look him in the eyes properly. “It’s actually really really cold in here.” 

“We could light the fire?” Blaine suggested, moving just a couple of inches closer.

Kurt laughed, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and holding him close. “You don’t think people would notice a fire through the window and call the police?”

“You make a good point. We should probably tidy this place up a bit and get going, I guess.” It sounded like the absolute last thing Blaine wanted to say. 

But they had managed to whittle away almost two hours, and standing up against each other, wrapped up in one another was so good. Really, it could only be considered late if either one had a curfew and they were both old enough not to have to worry about that, thank god.

“Can I ask you a question?” Kurt’s curiosity suddenly got the better of him. “What happened the night I went out dancing with Rachel?”

Blaine bit his lip, looking down at the floor again. “Well, maybe we should take a seat. This could take a while...”

That sounded dubious, to say the least. What had he done? They sat down together at one of the booths -- close, but not too close -- and Blaine started talking. 

“So, you passed out just as I was trying to rescue Puck from your rather enthusiastic housemate. Not that he needed much rescuing - he was interested that’s for sure - I had to stop him closing the bar for the night just so he could come with us. Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.” Blaine paused, taking a deep breath and entwining his fingers with Kurt’s on the table in front of them. “You passed out, and even in a bar that doesn’t happen all that often, so people kinda freaked out. Well no, Rachel freaked out.”

Kurt couldn’t resist. “Oh, I bet she did.”

Blaine smiled at that before continuing. “Lucky for you, this is not the first time it’s happened here. Also lucky that you were still lucid enough to respond to my voice, or I would have had to call an ambulance and worried myself sick for the rest of the night.”

“You would have worried?”

“Kurt.”

“Blaine.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?” Kurt mimed zipping his lips.

“Right so, you were responding but still really out of it. Rachel was going on and on about calling you an ambulance and getting your stomach pumped and all that. She almost had a panic attack on your behalf.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Of course she did.” 

“Then I offered to escort you both home. I mean, you were all floppy and she could hardly carry you...” Blaine tapered off. Was he embarrassed? Shy? Kurt couldn’t quite tell. 

“I didn’t know there was stairs.”

Kurt was confused. “Why do the stairs matter?”

“Well, you were fine on the cab ride, thankfully it was short, but -- when we got to your apartment and there were stairs, I had to make good on my offer to carry you.” Blaine pause, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “You were fairly easy to carry, so that was a bonus, but...”

“But...?” Kurt encouraged.

“But you kept talking. Loudly. abouttheshapeofmybuttandprecicelywhatyouwouldliketodowithit.”

“What?”

“I have a decidedly luscious ass,” Blaine said slowly, turning beet red and looking anywhere but at Kurt.

“Yes. But - oh. I said that?” Kurt squeaked the words out.

Blaine nodded. “And there were other less articulate mumblings that I am choosing not to repeat. Ever.”

Kurt was mortified and a little hesitant about hearing the rest of the story. But Blaine knew, and if Blaine knew that meant it was probably better that Kurt knew too so that they could... both know. 

“So anyway, I got you upstairs, over my shoulder and you started looking a little green around the edges, so Rachel pointed and I ran you the bathroom and needless to say, you were sick and drunk and trying not to pass out in the toilet so I held you u-up and you were surprisingly insistent that you brush your teeth, so we... did that, and then you went to bed.” Blaine ran the last few words together, like he was ripping a band aid off and trying to reduce the sting. 

Kurt was stuck on that last bit though. We brushed your teeth. He took a slow, deliberate breath in and held it for a few seconds. “Is that all?”

Blaine’s eyes were still downcast. “Not quite?”

Well it can’t get much worse in any case.

Ha.

“You may have tried to kiss me, I may have cuddled you to sleep -- per your request -- and Rachel may have walked in and suggested my intentions were less than honorable.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I um, wrote on your mirror, hoping you would call me when you woke up.”

Kurt’s mind was reeling. “You said... tried to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

It was actually the most awkward conversation Kurt had ever taken part in and really, he never should have asked the stupid question and ruined their whole damn date.

“I-I stopped you.” Blaine looked at him that time, his face earnest. “I just didn’t want it to be like that. I wanted... I wanted you to remember it... Kurt.”

Of course he did. Of course Kurt tried to maul him in a drunken state and-- shit.

“And Rachel?”

“You asked me if I would stay until you fell asleep, and... did you know that when you’re drunk and tired you look all sweet and innocent?”

Well, he did then.

“So I sat next to you and, well, Rachel came in and informed me it was time to go home. That’s it, I swear.” 

Kurt sat, staring dully at the table. How to ruin a fantastic date in one question.

“I should go home.” Kurt got up and went to find his shirt near the pool table.

Blaine stood up too, trying to wrangle himself out of the booth without getting stuck. “Kurt you... you don’t have to go.”

Biting his lip, Kurt looked up from under his lashes. “You could come with me?”

The wording, the phrasing -- maybe there should be some sort of disclaimer on the whole sentence. Kurt tried to distract himself, shrugging into his shirt and taking the vodka back to the shelf behind the bar.

“You’d want me too?” Blaine asked, surprised.

“Well, you said your intentions were honorable. Prove it.”

Blaine grinned, his eyes sparkling, and nodded once toward the bar. “Help me clean up first?”

They worked quickly, quietly, the anticipatory silence punctuated only with tiny, bashful glances over the counter until everything was returned to its proper place.

Blaine locked the door behind them they walked home hand in hand, cold but excited. It was nerve wracking. Finally they stumbled through the front door of the apartment, still damp and sticky, but with purpose. Kurt stopped just long enough to see the surprised look on Rachel’s face, cracking bits of her clay facial mask and promptly dropping the magazine she had been idly flicking through. “Not a word Jim Carrey. He’s got something to prove to me.”

And with that Kurt led Blaine to his room and closed the door. Where ‘prove it’ he did.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Massive thank you's to my beta: xxxraquelita, and to the artist: pencilpushingenthusiast for catching every trip and stumble in this story and for wiping away my tears with love and hugs.
> 
> Secondary art for the Kurt/Blaine Reverse Bang, also by pencilpushingenthusiast:
> 
> http://pencilpushingenthusiast.tumblr.com/post/26215702938/kurt-blaine-reversebang-2012-tumblr-lj-day-29


End file.
